


I have been mortal

by M_Moonshade



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Gen, I hope to make this a multichapter fic, but I will need time and input
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-19 20:28:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4759919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_Moonshade/pseuds/M_Moonshade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Held hostage by Captain Lovelace, the crew of the Hephaestus is out of time and Hera is out of options. She turns to the resident mad scientist to find a way to get her safely off the station before it's destroyed.</p><p>His methods, as always, are a bit... unconventional.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Desperate Measures

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: thank you to SmilodonMeow for pointing out some rather egregious spelling mistakes. I'm notorious for getting names wrong, so my apologies.

“She will destroy Hephaestus,” Hilbert had warned her, his voice still hoarse from where Lovelace had nearly broken his hyoid. “And you with it. To her, you are nothing but machine. I can save you. Let me help you, Hera.”

Religion was the plaything of humans, but she knew enough second-hand pop culture to recognize devils and the deals they made. She couldn’t spit in his face, but that didn’t stop her from leaving him alone in the dark.

One plan fell through, and then another. Every day, Lovelace’s repairs got a little bit further along. Every day, their hold on the ship slipped a little further. Every day, their attempts to reclaim the station crumbled from the ingenious to the truly desperate.

Every day, Hilbert repeated his offer.

“You see it in their life signs,” he told her. “Stress is no good for the body. Hormones all out of order. Muscles become tense. Eyes become heavy. They try so hard to save you, but they only delay the inevitable. You know this.”

Yes, she knew.

“I can save you. But I will need time. Wait too long, and I will be able to do nothing.”

Another one of the ship’s systems went online. It was one more repair that Minkowski and Eiffel couldn’t delay.

“How?” she asked at last.

The doctor hummed in interest. “Repeat that, please. Was my imagination?”

“You think you can save me,” she said. “How?”

“Finally.” He chuckled. “Your problem is size. Your processing unit is too large to put on such tiny ship. Your memory banks too vast. Would never fit inside.”

“If you’re suggesting duct taping me to the outer hull, Eiffel’s already beaten you to it.”

“No, no, no. Problem is size, I said. In order to come aboard, you must be smaller.”

“Amazing. How did I never think of that before? Let me just find a flash drive and—oh, wait. That’s right. I’m already the most compact piece of machinery we have. Computers don’t get any smaller.” Why was she even talking to him? This was ridiculous.

“Manmade computers? No. But you forget, other computers are far more complex. Far more compact. Perhaps not so efficient as your model, but in a pinch? Will do.”

“I’m listening.”

He arched his back, turning slowly away from the observation deck’s only window. Wolf 359 lit him from behind with colors that humans had never bothered to name. “Tell me, Hera. Is Box 953 secure in the store room?”

She didn’t know. Nobody had bothered installing optic sensors in there. “That room’s been sealed off for months. There’s a massive breach in the hull.”

“And the box is bolted to the floor. So long as it has not suffered irreparable damage, it should still be viable. So long as you can bring me inside, I can do the rest.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” she said. “How about we get Eiffel and Minkowski in here, and you can tell them what to do?”

“If you would like to risk it, okay,” he said casually. “But they will bicker with their petty moral concerns. Perhaps Lovelace will find out. Perhaps she will not like what she hears. Perhaps she will not give me the chance to finish what might save you. But if is worth the risk, go ahead. Tell them.”

She hesitated. “And what if I don’t tell them, and they decide to leave me behind anyway?”

“Then you will go kaboom with Hephaestus, no worse than if you had not tried.” He was still smiling, the bastard. He was always smiling. “What do you say, Hera? Will you take a little risk?”

* * *

 

“Pack your bags, folks. We’re blowing this popsicle stand.” It was such an Eiffel thing to say, but the words felt dirty and wrong coming out of Lovelace’ mouth. What was worst was the casual way she said it, like it was a victory. Like it didn’t matter that a member of their crew was going to get blown to pieces right along with the station.

“We can’t leave yet,” Minkowski said in a rush. “We need to double-check the life-support systems. And the engines—“

“ _The engines are fine._ ” The casual cheer fell away like a curtain on a stage, and Lovelace was all cold steel again. “Anything else that goes wrong can be fixed in transit. After all, we’re all _great_ at improvising. _Aren’t we?_ ”

Eiffel swallowed. “Yep. Exactly like you said, Commander. But before we go, you gotta give me a chance to catch Seymour. I mean, he’s practically a station pet at this point. And he’ll need an extra pot, and some fertilizer, and…” He babbled on as rapidly as he could while his brain fired full speed in the other direction. He needed to talk to Hera. There had to be something they hadn’t thought of yet. Sure, they’d exhausted plans A through Z and then descended into the Greek alphabet, but there had to be another way. Anything. He had to—

“Are we leaving, then?” A thick Russian accent filtered through the hallway. “Perfect timing.”

A duet of death threats and demands filled the corridor as the two captains turned on Hilbert, and Eiffel let them do their thing. He didn’t have the headspace for suspicion or righteous indignation. His attention was entirely caught by the shape that was being dragged along by the scientist like a dog on a leash.

It was like looking into a mirror. The same dark skin. The same narrow, sloping shoulders. The same cheekbones. The same dark eyes. Hell, even the space suit looked right, minus the wear of almost two years of use. His reflection blinked up at him, its eyes slowly focusing on his face. Familiar eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.

“Hilbert, what the hell did you do?”

“Minor data transfer,” Hilbert said. “Easy peasy, when you know what you are doing. And now problem is solved. You’re welcome.”

“Have—have you been cloning Eiffel?”

“Nonsense. Goddard did it. Wanted to have spare in case original experiment died prematurely. Have had to use several already, I am afraid. But no worries. They are entirely nonsentient until uploaded with consciousness. In this case, Hera. Say hello, Hera.”

There were more sounds, but they filtered through Eiffel’s ears like bad transmission. There was lots of shouting. Minkowski was shaking Hilbert so violently that they both slammed into the wall, ordering him to turn her back, goddamn him, turn her back. Lovelace stared, her face a mask of horror and disgust.

Oh yeah, and there were some other unimportant words like ‘clone’ and ‘use several already’ and ‘died prematurely’ floating around his head, but he smothered them before he could think hard about them. His attention remained fixed on the figure before him.

“Hera?”

Familiar eyebrows knit again in recognition. A mouth opened, but hung that way, unsure.

Eiffel pushed off to float a bit closer, but stopped himself before he could touch her. “Hera, is that you in there? Can you hear me?”

Her head twitched, barely there at first, and then sharp and mechanical, almost violent in its intensity. Her eyes were wide and intent, fixed on him like she wanted to beam the words directly into his head.

Which probably wasn’t too far off, actually.

“Are you having trouble finding your way around in there?” he asked gently.

Another sharp, frantic nod.

“Go ahead and ease up off the throttle, sweetheart. I read you loud and clear.”

Fortunately for her, facial responses were involuntary reactions. The relief in her expression was fluent.

He attempted a smile. “Hera, are you okay? Is this—we can undo this, if you want. I figure we just need to shove Hilbert out an airlock for a few—“

Her head shook violently side to side. No.

“Is that a no on the airlock?”

Okay. Okay, then. “Is this—are you okay with this?”

Her nod was hesitant, but irrefutable.

“She asked me to do it,” Hilbert choked through a half-crushed larynx. The woman doing the crushing tightened her grip. “She needed way out, I gave it. Everyone happy.”

“Happy?” Minkowski snarled. “What the hell makes you think we’re happy about this? Put her back!”

Hera shook her head. No. Her gaze was intent and meaningful. For once in his life, Eiffel was grateful for all Minkowski’s games of hands-free charades.

“Can you think of any other way to get her off the station?” he asked. “Sir, I don’t think we have a choice.”


	2. Miracle Worker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hera learns her way around her new body.

Nothing made sense.

Ha. Sense was half the problem.

Nothing was labeled, there was no user manual, and she didn’t even know how to communicate enough to ask for help.

There were no discrete signals that go to discrete sensors. Her perception was frustratingly limited by distance, but at the same time she couldn’t turn any of them off. She tasted the inside of her mouth. Her space suit itched. There were clusters of nerves in random spots along her body that were hyper sensitive for no discernable reason. Her optical range was absurdly limited, and she could only focus on one thing at a time without losing all sense of clarity or functionality.

How did humans do it? How did they not lose their minds?

"-ra? Hera, can you hear me?"

How long had Eiffel been talking to her? She tried to give confirmation, but she couldn’t. She didn’t have the words. She didn’t even know how to turn around and bring him into visual range.

But she could nod.

"You okay to chat?"

_Chat? A bit one sided for a chat, don't you think?_

"Is that a no?"

 _No, it's not. Or yes, it is. Or... maybe?_ There was another itching sensation, almost painful, and her vision started to blur.

Now what? Was this stupid awful inefficient body breaking down already?

"Sorry! Sorry. I didn't mean to upset you, Hera. Just trying to feel things out."

She nodded, because that was all she could do.

Eiffel tried again. "Do you want me to leave you alone?"

She shook her head. That would be the worst thing that could happen right now. At least when he was here, it was easier not to think about the assault on her senses.

"Okay. Do you want me to be quiet?"

_No._

"Okay, then. We're making progress already. Are you..." he fumbled. "Before you said you were having trouble finding the right pathways to all your functions. Is that what's going on right now?"

_Yes! Eiffel, you beautiful idiot, yes!_

"Yikes. I can only imagine what that's like, Hera."

_As much as I appreciate your sympathy, right now it’s not accomplishing anything._

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

She recognized the game. Twenty questions. The four of them used to play it at meal times, early on in the mission. The tradition fell apart when they figured out that Hilbert would only reference obscure nucleotides and molecular structures, and Eiffel would repeatedly choose even more obscure pop culture references. But even if the game had been a failure, the rules remained solid in Hera’s memory banks. Or… brain.

One question at a time, Eiffel chipped away at the amorphous void in her knowledge until he settled on the immediate necessity. Hera had no way to communicate beyond these stupid little head-wiggles. Everything else could be sorted out later, but first she needed to figure out speech.

"Open your mouth. Can you do that?"

Which part was her mouth? She knew the map of muscles and bones and nerves running through the human body, but she couldn’t match them to the motor controls necessary to manipulate them. It was pure accident that she figured out how to nod and shake her head in the first place.

"Let me-- is it okay if I touch you?"

Yes, though she didn’t understand why.

"Here." He ran his fingers along the bones of her jaw. It felt...

It _felt_.

It felt weird. More sensitive to pressure and texture than her hand when Hilbert had guided her into the ship, but it conveyed less specific data.

"Do you feel this?"

She nodded carefully, so not to disturb the touch.

"Try moving that for me."

Slowly, carefully, she did. She recognized a faint itch as her lips part and close again, and pursed them experimentally.

"Perfect!" he declared. "Now try adding a breath to that, and you should have speech!"

She exhaled. Nothing happened beyond the contraction of her lungs.

"That's okay," he told her. "Baby steps, Hera. Just try to... to..." He frowned. "Well, crap." He looked around, but the rest of the crew was on the bridge. "You got any ideas, Seymour?"

The plant writhed unhelpfully in the air duct.

"Oh, wait! I've got an idea.” He took her hands in his and pressed her fingertips against his throat. "I saw this in a play once. But don't tell Minkowski. I don’t want her wrangling me into a production of _The Miracle Worker_."

His throat vibrated. His Adam’s apple bobbed. The slender cords of muscle in his neck expanded and contracted, and all of that motion pushed against her hands. Experimentally, she pushed back. Those were her fingers, and those were her palms. Here was her brachioradialis, there was the flexor carpi ulnaris, here was the point where the biceps pulled against the pectoralis major.

“Careful, Hera,” he chided, but there was pride in his tone. “Save the strangling for when you really mean it.”

Her face shifted with the involuntary muscle reaction, her mouth pulling one way and her eyes another, and the skin of her cheeks bunching into a near-exact replica of the smile Eiffel had fixed on her. She tried to take conscious control of those muscles, too, to anchor them into her secondary processes the way she once had the layout of the ship.

She exhaled again, this time attempting to mimic the vibrations she felt in his throat. The breaths sounded heavy and unnatural, but at the fifth attempt, the expulsion of air was joined by a slight buzz of vibrating vocal cords and a low, rumbling sound that resonated through her bones.

“There you go,” he said. “Just like that.”

She repeated the motion again. Slight realignment of muscle altered the pitch of the sound.

“You’re doing great, Hera.”

A buzz floated across the intercom. “Officer Eiffel, report to the bridge.” Lovelace’s voice sounded bizarre now that Hera could only hear such a limited segment of the auditory spectrum, but she could still catch the casual tone of the order, as well as the iron it hid just under the surface.

Eiffel didn’t miss it, either. “Sure thing, sir. Be right there.” To Hera, he added, “You keep doing what you’re doing. I’m going to be right back, okay?”

It took a moment of concentration, but she managed to respond with a bi-tonal burst of air. It was high-pitched and grunted, but it was an unmistakable “uh-huh.”

Eiffel grinned. “See? You’ve got this.”

* * *

 

Eiffel kept his smile bright even after the doors shut behind him.

“Hera?” he asked experimentally. “Can you hear me?”

No response.

“Hera?”

He knew she couldn’t, but that didn’t shake the habitual feeling that she should be aware of his every movement. But no, she wasn’t watching him. He knew better.

He let out a long breath, and his shoulders slumped. His face hurt from smiling so long. For several long seconds, he let himself float in the hallway, just breathing.

Just breathing. Not thinking. The last thing he needed right now was time to think.

“You okay?”

He righted himself so quickly that he almost went into a spin. “What? Oh, hey, Minkowski. I’m just heading to the bridge like a good little soldier. See?”

“That’s not what I asked, Eiffel.” Minkowski lowered her voice and drifted closer. “How are you holding up?”

“Everything’s absolutely hunky dory. So what should I be expecting from Commander Killswitch? Should I be writing out my will before I head up there, or what?”

“She said she wanted to debrief you about your new duties on the ship,” Minkowski said uneasily. “She seems calmer now that things are going her way. We’ll see how long that lasts.”

“I’ll be over here, holding my breath.”

She frowned. “Eiffel, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Oh, sure, I’m fine.” It came out almost a singsong. “I mean, it’s not like all those times when I told you that Doctor Kevorkian over there was trying to kill me. It’s not like he succeeded or anything—you know, more than a dozen times or so. Did we ever get a final count on that, by the way? How many times he’s killed me?” He silenced himself before his tone could officially qualify as a screech.

“Eiffel…” Minkowski looked stricken.

“Commander, don’t,” he said, forcing his voice into something low and steady again. “I can get a therapist or whatever when we get back to Earth. Right now the priority is getting everyone back in one piece, and that’s what you do best. So how about we focus on that stuff for now, and leave the brain-melting questions bottled up some place where they can’t hurt anyone?”

She sighed, resigned. “Okay. Just… let me know if there’s something I can do.”

He offered her a weary grin. “Now that you mention it... Did you pack any of my confiscated cigarettes?”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always appreciated. If you want to chat further about this, then I'm always game for a discussion at judiops.tumblr.com


End file.
